I have been planning on doing longer fics around the bird laguz, and those plans have yet to fall into perfect alignment. This is one of those things that I had planned to sprinkle throughout said fic. I find it a little bothersome about the lack of formality in some situations, though with some characters, like Tibarn, I feel like they're royal, but also just one of their people. However, if they say "Frog," everyone had better hop.

The tides were low around Phoenicis; there was not a cloud in the sky nor a ship visible in the sea. In all, it should have been a calm, lazy day for the king of the hawks. Tibarn instead found himself with a headache.

It was not due to the usual cause of his headaches, the white heron prince, Reyson, who had taken to emulating his hawk protectors after being displaced from his home. Tibarn often wished Reyson continued to behave like a heron, but Reyson seems to have it ingrained in his head if he was strong and fierce like the hawks, his home would not have been destroyed. That thinking had once led to the heron prince nearly killing himself by eating things he should not have.

Nor was it due to four young hawks, who had found a pair of lobsters in the low tide and were animatedly bickering over whether or not to keep them as pets or eat them for lunch. The argument was actually a source of amusement for Tibarn, whose answer if he had been asked would have been both: keep them until they grow larger, then eat them.

His frustration came in the form of a female hawk named Zara. She did not often find herself in trouble. She was quite well-behaved. A little too well-behaved sometimes. It was only three words that had begun everything. A quick, "Sorry, Your Grace," as she bumped into him. The basket she carried had been stacked high with cloth and partially obstructed her view.

Tibarn had stood still for a moment as he watched her pass. Part of him wanted to help her. Another part just wanted to let her pass. It was the third part of him that won out, the part that called, "Zara! Can I have a word with you?"

She stopped suddenly with a rustle of feathers. Her heavy burden made turning difficult and facing him even more of a challenge. "Your Grace?"

"How many times have I had to scold you about that?"

He did not have to say what "that" was. He could tell by the drooping of her wings she knew just what he meant. She did not answer immediately. As the second ticked on, Tibarn thought of asking her again. Then he heard a very small answer. "Countless," Zara admitted.

"Yet you still continue." Part of his frustration ebbed as her wings drooped further. He walked over to her and took her basket with ease then placed it on the ground beside them, careful to not let any of the cloth touch the ground.

What could she say to that? There was no denying it. She had just addressed him as "Your Grace," not once but twice. As Tibarn appeared to be waiting for her response, the only thing she could think to muster was, "Yes."

"Why?"

She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. Tibarn was not sure if her wings could droop any lower. "We've also had this conversation countless times," she managed to point out. "It is always the same, isn't it?" She shifted her weight to her right foot though her gaze was still on the ground.

"But we shouldn't have to," Tibarn interjected. "After I asked you the first time, you could have stopped."

Tibarn could not even recall when that first occurrence had been. For as long as he could remember, and he had spent a good deal of time on the subject recently, Zara had always been somewhat proper and formal. It had gone back to even before the two remaining herons of Serenes Forest joined their little group. He had considered, for a time, that it had been the herons' influence, but then he realized it was simply not the case as he thought further back on it.

He had also found himself wishing on some of those days that Reyson had taken influence from Zara and not himself. More than once he caught himself thinking, 'I've got a heron trying to be a hawk, and a hawk who might be more polite than than the heron ever was.'

Tibarn also had not admitted it to anyone, and he would never admit it if he could help it, was that whenever he confronted Zara, he folded a lot faster than she realized. All it took was a sorrowfully sagging wing, a crack to her voice, or a pair of watery purple eyes to make him want to drop the whole thing. Yet he always found himself growing annoyed when she would address him the next time. Could they even reach an agreement?

"It... feels wrong," she admitted. Zara did not like being under the receiving end of one of Tibarn's stern talks. The only person who managed to get her in that position, though, was herself. Eventually, the arguments had all wound up being the same. Tibarn could have quoted her word for word as she continued, "You're our king. Why shouldn't I address you as such?"

Tibarn crossed his arms over his chest and attempted to be more unrelenting than he felt. "I have said it before, Zara, there is little need for such formal trappings. As long as our people listen to what I command, I'm their king. No titles, no formalities, just Tibarn. I know you can say it."

Her basket caught her eye and she tried to make it a means to the end of the conversation. Zara ducked her head and tried to hide behind her purple hair as she felt her face grow warm. "I really need to take this to my - "

Tibarn cut her off before she could finish her sentence. The distraction did not work on him. "Zara," he began, gently but forcefully, "let me ask you this." He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her attention to the young hawks. The quartet continued to quarrel. One seemed to be the holdout, as she held the snapping sea creatures and tried to explain that they were simply too small for the time being for all four of them to eat. "How would you feel about this? If I walked over to those nestlings over there, told them we were going to play a game, and that they are now to address you as 'Lady Zara?'"

"That's not - you wouldn't - !"

Her cheeks flushed a darker shade of red; Tibarn tried his best to not laugh. He could admit, privately but never aloud, that he was a bit of a big softie when it came to his people. He would fight to the death to defend his close-knit group, but even he enjoyed a little teasing and tormenting now and then. He had never flustered anyone as he had just now.

"You wouldn't like it, would you?" he continued softly.

"Not at all," she said, barely louder than a whisper. "But I am not - "

"It doesn't matter that you are not a lady. By nightfall, these four young hawks would have the entire island calling you Lady Zara. If you would hate it, how do you think I feel?"

She bowed her head and nodded her understanding. "I will try to stop."

"Thank you." As she reached for her basket, he beat her to it. "I'll carry it," he told her. It was no challenge for him. As he followed her with the basket he knew she would keep her word. Zara would try to address him less formally, of that he had no doubt. But it would last a few days, a week at most. Then it would be back to another countless argument on how to properly address him versus how he wanted to be spoken to.